


The Sad Bitch Chronicles

by hollyesque



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alwaysagirl!Kirk, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Female James T. Kirk, Heavy on the angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Not Really Character Death, Nyota Uhura is a Good Friend, Pon Farr, Spock Being an Asshole, T'hy'la, pre-STID
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyesque/pseuds/hollyesque
Summary: Soulmate, my left asscheek.





	1. Wedding Crashers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if this fucked up fuckery is in fact a simulation (because at this point it's _gotta_ be), right about there is where it glitches. 
> 
> Extremely dubious consent below, please heed the tags folks.

If heaven does exist, Jim just earned herself a VIP pass.

“Let me be the first to congratulate you two,” she says warmly to the couple sitting in front of her.

Spock inclines his head, and Uhura smiles. “Thank you, Captain,” she says, fingers brushing Spock’s sleeve in an unconscious gesture.

Jim dismisses them, orders Chekov to plot a course to New Vulcan, and then wanders down to Sickbay to cry in Bones’ office. 

* * *

 

It’s honestly fine, she thinks two days later when they’re all gathered around a dais and some old bat Spock called T’Pau is banging on a gong. Spock and Uhura are perfect for each other. They’ll have crazy monkey sex on the ceremonial forge for three days straight and then beam back up without so much as a hair out of place, and they’ll quote love poetry at each other in High Vulcan for the rest of their days and their kids will figure out how to get a starship to Warp 13.

 It was never going to be Jim, who drinks like a fish and can’t even get her hair to lay flat. They’ve been getting better at this command team thing since Spock first walked onto her bridge six months back, even going so far as to develop a semi-regular chess night routine, but it’s clear that even so Spock can still barely stand her. Uhura, meanwhile, looks like she was born to wear heavy robes in blistering heat and kneel in front of the oldest Vulcan still alive. She doesn’t even look sweaty, but Jim knows she must be because Jim’s back is _slick._

There’s a distinct green tinge to Spock’s cheeks. He’s been progressively more and more out of it since before they even beamed down, but now he’s definitely counting the seconds until he can put his dick in something. He kneels too, though, when T’Pau barks at him in Vulcan. Both he and Uhura stay perfectly still as T’Pau lays a hand on each of their heads and closes her eyes.

And if this whole fucked up fuckery is in fact a simulation (because at this point it’s _gotta_ be), right about there is where it glitches.

When the picture cuts back in Jim’s lying on her back and she’s definitely going to need burn salve because _holy shit_ the sand is hot and Bones’ face is blocking out the sun and he’s shouting “Stop _! Stop! Stop_ it, you’re _hurting her!”_ and someone is screaming, who the hell is that screami—oh shit, that’s her.

Then suddenly the pain vanishes and Jim is left shaking and gasping, clawing at the burning sand beneath her while Bones grips her face in his hands and stares at her like he’s trying to see straight to her brain through her eye. She wants to tell him that she doesn’t think that’s how it works, but when she opens her mouth all that comes out is a super uncool shriek-gasp.

“Jesus, Jim,” Bones hisses as he slides an arm under her shoulders. When he’s propped her into a sitting position, she sees that T’Pau has taken her hands off Uhura and Spock’s heads and is staring at Jim with Big Vulcan Energy. Spock still looks like he doesn’t give much of a shit what happens as long as he gets to put his dick in something, but Uhura is wide-eyed and looks a little horrified.

“Present her,” T’Pau orders, and before Bones can finish his “Now, wait just a—“, hands are gripping her under the armpits and she’s being hauled to her feet. Her legs immediately begin to wobble and she thinks that she’d actually really like to lie back down, but the stone-faced Vulcan escorting her is having none of it. She hears Bones shouting abuse as they approach the dais and Jim hits the deck in front of T’Pau and holy shit, this bitch is scary.

T’Pau looks down at her like she’s upset that George and Winona Kirk even had the audacity to copulate, but the insult is lost amidst the feeling that someone recently jammed an ice pick through Jim’s eye. Uhura is still staring at her with rapidly-mounting concern, but Jim doesn’t even have a response for her whispered “ _you okay?”_

“I will attempt to establish a mating bond between Spock and his intended once more,” T’Pau announces to the crowd. Bones immediately starts hurling insults again and Jim can’t really parse out what the connection here is, but she doesn’t have time to think too hard before T’Pau has laid her hands back on Spock and Uhura’s heads and closed her eyes and _holy shit—_

When she comes back she’s doing that shriek-gasp thing again and it’s Uhura’s face that’s inches from hers. It takes a second for her to regain the ability to understand English, but when she does Jim realizes that Uhura’s saying “It’s okay, Jim. It’s okay, you’re okay.” Then she realizes with a stab of alarm that Uhura’s face is streaked with tears.

There’s an assload of stuff that’s wrong here, but that’s _definitely_ wrong. Jim hasn’t been to a lot of weddings, but she’s nearly positive that the bride isn’t supposed to cry like that.

“Wassamatter?” she demands, trying to get her muscles to stop shaking so she can get off the floor and fix it, “Uhuua, wassa—?”

 “He needs you, Jim, don’t fight him,” Uhura begs, and then she’s gone.

_Huh_?

She’s hauled upright again and the whole dais does a stomach-turning backflip. Then she’s kneeling next to Spock in front of T’Pau, except that wait a minute, this is where Uhura is supposed to go, except that when Jim cranes her pounding head back around Uhura is being escorted off the dais with her hand over her mouth and her shoulders shaking.

Wait.

“The _t’hy’la_ bond rejects the establishment of a mating bond with another,” T’Pau’s voice booms.

_Wait a minute—_

T’Pau reaches out and (oh no) lays her hand on _Jim’s_ head (oh _no)_ and spouts a long stream of Vulcan that almost drowns out Uhura’s sobs and Bones’ colorful swearing, then says, “It is done.”

“ _Wait,”_ Jim blurts. “This isn’t—”

Spock’s arm snakes around her waist like a band of steel and lifts her to her feet so suddenly that she nearly faceplants again. But then he starts dragging her off the dais in the general direction of the ceremonial forge, and whatever T’Pau did to her head must have cleared it a bit because it hits her right then that this is a perfectly appropriate time to panic.

“No, _no,_ stop,” she starts babbling, “this isn’t right, I’m not—Uhura!” she tries pushing away from Spock’s grip but it doesn’t give an inch and did he just actually fucking _growl_ at her? “Uhura!” she shouts again, twisting around to find her. When she locates her Uhura’s still crying and Bones’ arm is around her shoulder and he looks like he could murder, and Uhura yells out “It’s okay, Jim, don’t—” but Jim is already in Doomsday Mode and it does nothing to calm her because _nonononononono_ —

“He’s not mine!” she shouts, pulling against Spock so hard her feet actually leave the ground. “Bones! _Bones!_ ”

It’s kinda chaos for a while after that because Spock actually hoists her into a fucking fireman’s lift and somewhere Bones is yelling _let me through, let me_ through, _god dammit_ and Uhura is yelling _Leonard, no, he’ll kill you if you touch her_ and T’Pau is booming _you shall not interfere with the rite of t’hy’la_ and Jim is babbling all sorts of shit that doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t occur to her until way later that she just did all that mess in front of half her bridge crew and her Chief Engineer, and yeah. There are ways she could have handled that better. Still.

 “Spock, please,” she begs when they reach the crater-looking sand pit, “I’m not Uhura, you don’t want me, _please._ ”

But Spock is already ripping at her uniform ( _she’s gonna have to beam back up nakey)_ and shredding his own clothing ( _they’re_ both _gonna have to beam back up nakey_ ) and then his nose is doing some super weird shit. He sniffs at her neck, her armpits, her belly button, then buries his nose in her pubic hair and inhales like it’s a bouquet of roses. Then, completely without warning, he licks a long wet stripe from back to front.

_Fuck._

It’s honestly fucking tragic because there’s a piece of Jim that got giddy when she envisioned this happening. But in Jim’s version there was no heartbroken Uhura or frantic Bones, and there was a Spock who would come out of this happy to be her bondmate instead of one who could barely stand working with her and would no doubt be horrendously confused and upset later. She’d wanted Spock for forever, but fucking hell, not like _this._

She really tries not to enjoy herself too much for that reason, but Spock just sort of goes to town eating her out and she’s got her fingers in his hair before she realizes it and they’re both making some pretty obscene noises, and yeah. She doesn’t last long.

Then she’s on her back and she’s basically blind because holy _shit_ the sun and Spock’s nose to nose with her and then he’s _in,_ slamming into her before she can so much as say _careful I didn’t prepare for this._

Bones is going to pop a blood vessel.

She’s spiraling towards another orgasm absurdly soon, muscles coiled tight as Spock latches a hand to her face and mutters something under his breath. Then everything whites out and all she knows is _mine mine mine mate t’hy’la t’nash’veh mate mate mine t’hy’la mine_ —

The whole thing is over embarrassingly quickly, leaving Jim heaving for breath as Spock noses at her ear and the sand gives her back second-degree burns. Spock probably won’t remember this though, so what the fuck ever.

Spock never stops rutting, and minutes later Jim can feel him hardening again. This is going to be a long fucking few days. 

(Heh. Fucking.)

* * *

 

Up to this point, Jim hasn’t exactly been the most enthusiastic drinker of water. Her shit is still a little wrecked from Tarsus, and in general she’s more into things that taste good than things that taste like literally nothing. Bones has to remind her a lot that coffee isn’t _actually_ water, despite being made with it.

That being said, Jim would happily allow half the population of Vulcan to rail her if it meant she could have one fucking sip of H2O.

She’ll never bitch at Bones about it again, she thinks as Spock wraps her hair around his fingers and jerks her head back to bite her neck. She doesn’t even have enough to sweat anymore, peeing is going to be rough for a while for _sure,_ and she’s honestly a little dizzy with it.

It’s almost the end of the second day, she thinks as Spock flips her over, and no one’s even come to check if they’re still alive. She can’t tell if that’s an insult or a blessing in disguise.

She can’t contain the noise she makes when Spock pushes into her yet again. Bones is going have a coronary when she finally gets back aboard, and Jim honestly contemplates just letting it happen so long as he fixes her prize jewel.

She hasn’t spoken a real word in a while, reduced long ago to short exhalations of “Uh,” each time Spock rams his way through. Spock is still almost completely nonverbal, only spouting variations of _mine_ through their mental link each time he melds them. Those are the only times Jim comes anymore, and it’s suspiciously likely that that’s just because she’s feeling _his_ orgasm vicariously.

She really hopes she doesn’t die of thirst, she thinks, scrabbling for purchase in the sand as Spock snakes an arm around her waist to change the angle. That would be the lamest possible way to go.

_“Oh, how did the savior of Earth die?”_

_“Vulcan Ponn Farr.”_

_“Damn, that’s brutal,”_

_“Nah, she just got dehydrated.”_

If she’s going to bite the dust, she’d rather Spock just fuck her to death. All right, she may be going a little delirious.

Spock latches a hand to her face from behind, and then she doesn’t think about anything for a while. 

* * *

 

There’s sand beneath her cheek, sand in her hair, sand in her asscrack. Distantly, she’s aware of this. She’s just not sure how it got there.

There’s sun on her face, turning everything bright red beneath her closed eyelids. From far, far away, she thinks she hears someone say, “Captain?”

Then there’s the disconcerting sensation of being broken apart and knit back together, and the light changes quality and there’s shouting. She’s lifted, covered by something soft, and jetted away at what feels like Warp 4. She slits her eyes open but everything’s bright and blurry, tries to say something but her tongue is sandpaper and her lips feel busted.

Something cool presses against her neck, what feels like a mild bee sting, and then Jim goes away for a spell. 

* * *

 

When she resurfaces it’s to the smell of disinfectant and the beet red face of her Chief Medical Officer.

“Don’t try to talk,” he barks when she opens her mouth.

“Bones—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Bones growls, sounding incredibly mad at her. “Just don’t say anything to me for a minute.”

He wrathfully checks her pupil dilation, furiously hands her a cup of ice chips, and mercilessly injects her with about a dozen hyposprays in rapid succession. “First and second degree burns from the sand, not to mention sun exposure, tearing to inner vaginal lining, bruising around the arms, legs, throat and face, and severe dehydration.” He rattles off like each injury it’s a personal insult. Then he snaps the cover of his PADD closed and glares at her. “Questions?”

“Um.”

“Good.” Bones makes to leave.

“Where’s Spock?” Jim calls after him, immediately regretting it when his face turns an even deeper shade of red. It’s suddenly abundantly clear who it is Bones is _really_ mad at.

She’s about to say _you know what never mind_ when Bones snarles, “In his quarters being an asshole. You’re spending the night here.” He stalks off before Jim can protest.

She lays there looking lost for a little while, contemplating the consequences of making a break for it. She’s pulled from this train of thought, though, by a quiet “Jim,” from the foot of her bed. It’s Uhura, and Jim’s chin gives a traitorous wobble.

“Oh, no, Jim,” Uhura sighs, way more warmly than Jim deserves, “don’t cry, please.”

“I’m not crying,” Jim cries, not even fighting it when Uhura sits on the edge of her bed and pulls her into a hug, “I’m just really sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Uhura soothes, not letting Jim budge when she goes to rear back.

“I _fucked your—_ ”

“You didn’t know the bond existed,” Uhura says, epitome of reason, “and you saw what happened when we tried to establish one on top of yours. We could have killed you.”

“Bullshit—”

“Jim,” Uhura finally releases her, gazing so deep in her eyes that Jim’s lizard brain almost makes a sex joke. But Uhura’s face is serious and Jim’s not all the way done crying, so she keeps quiet.

“Have you seen him?” she blurts out before Uhura can try to make her feel better again.

Uhura sits all the way back at that, sighing heavily. She drops her gaze to Jim’s blanket and picks at it in an uncharacteristic gesture of discomfort. “He came to my quarters once M’Benga cleared him,” she admits. It’s definitely a symptom of the bond and days of fucking that Jim’s chest twists a little.

“You can get married in the Human way,” she offers, “It’s just as binding in the Federation and he’ll only need me once every, like, seven years—”

“He suggested that,” Uhura interrupts quietly. She shakes her head. “I said no.”

Jim’s jaw drops. “Uhura,” she starts again.

“Learning about linguistics means learning about cultures and traditions, Jim,” Uhura says, “I know what _t’hy’la_ means. I won’t desecrate that.” She scrutinizes Jim’s face for a second and when it’s clear that Jim has no clue what she’s saying, she sighs again. “It’s the closest thing in this universe to _soulmates,_ Jim. There’s no literal translation for it in Standard, it’s so important.”

Jim snorts. “There is no damn way Spock and I are soulmates. He could barely stand me before as is.”

Uhura shakes her head again. “He’s being completely unreasonable,” she insists, “it’s not like him at all. He didn’t even look into the bond to confirm it; he just blocked it right away. He hasn’t meditated, and the fact that he would even suggest shaming all three of us by superseding a bond…I hardly recognize him right now.”

Jim wants to say that she’s already pretty damn shameful so it wouldn’t make much difference, but there’s a crease between Uhura’s eyebrows that tells her not to go there. “I’m sorry,” she says again instead.

Uhura huffs out a breath. “Jim,” she starts.

“No, not because this is my fault—it is, but whatever—because you thought you were going to marry the love of your life and instead you found out you could never really be with him.” Jim ploughs on even though Uhura’s face has gone really soft. “I’m sorry your wedding day was ruined. I’m sorry we found out that way. I’m just…really sorry,” she finishes lamely, alarmed by the lump that’s reappeared in her throat.

“Oh, Jim,” Uhura murmurs, guiding Jim’s head back to her shoulder and holding it there, soft, comforting, “I’m sorry too.”

Jim knows what she means, and she definitely cries a little more after that, but Uhura keeps her hand steady on the back of Jim’s head and doesn’t comment. 

* * *

 

Bones releases her the next morning with three hyposprays and a series of threats. She’s on light duty, which means no bridge shift yet, so she briefly considers wreaking havoc in engineering before deciding not to inflict Bones on Scotty and meandering back to her quarters instead.

She nearly shits herself when she finds Spock already inside, sitting at her small dining table like the chair is covered in needles.

“Shouldn’t you be—?”

“Dr. McCoy informed me that he was releasing you and strongly advised that I meet you here,” Spock says evenly. The way he says _strongly advised_ means that Bones probably threated painful death by hypospray if Spock wasn’t there.

Jim doesn’t have anything to say to that, so she lets out a stupid “Oh,” and then stands in the middle of her quarters for a good decade, waiting for someone to speak first.

Spock stares right back at her, face a granite carving of assholery, and it looks like Jim is going to have to be the one to break the silence, but the second she inhales Spock cuts her off again.

“I did not intend to bond with you,” he states matter-of-factly. “The unfortunate events which took place on New Vulcan have no bearing on those intentions. I have never, nor will I ever, desire a romantic relationship with you.”

Okay, _wow._ Jim thinks her mouth may be hanging open, but Spock isn’t done.

“I acted shamefully in my unfaithfulness to Nyota and I do not intend to repeat the incident,” he continues, so serene that Jim wants to laugh. “Please note that I have blocked the bond only because severing it is not an option. I will continue my efforts to maintain a professional relationship while on duty but beyond that which is required I see no need for additional interaction between us. These are my wishes,” he finishes, giving a tiny nod to indicate that it’s Jim’s turn to talk.

It’s a monumental effort to keep a lid on what she really wants to say, because there’s a _lot_ to unpack here. She wants to laugh until her sides ache. Wants to ask, _hey, remember when you ate my pussy? Remember that? Remember when you dicked me down in the middle of a pit of sand for three days straight?_ Wants to ask, _So are we still on for chess night tomorrow or is that a firm no?_ Wants, just a little bit, to start crying again.

But she can’t say things like that to her XO and she already cried at Uhura, so instead she swallows hard and says, “Okay.”

Spock nods again and stands, hands clasped behind his back. He exits Jim’s quarters without another word, leaving her to a mountain of paperwork and distracting silence in her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll fix it, I swear.  
> This takes place before STID, pretty much right after Nero when they're still feeling their way around each other as a command team.  
> I honestly couldn't tell you why I went with girl!Jim here; maybe I was feeling ballsy. She just kinda felt like the right fit for this story.  
> First attempt at a Star Trek fic and mimicking Jim's 15-year-old humor, so comments are eternally appreciated.  
> (This fic is pretty much done, so expect regular updates!)


	2. Suck it Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a bitch.

It’s not really like she can say she’s heartbroken, because she’s been watching Spock date Uhura and struggle to tolerate her this whole time. Yeah, the guy she’s in love with pretty much said marrying her was an immense mistake and he wouldn’t date her if a Klingon was holding a _bat’leth_ to his throat, but it’s not like she didn’t know that to begin with.

That being said, the next three months are still absolute trash.

Her first day back on full duty will probably hold the record for Most Awkward Bridge Shift Ever. No one can really look Jim in the eye, and her cheeks flush when she remembers how she threw a whole fit in front of half of her crew and the remaining population of the Vulcan species. Uhura keeps throwing her glances that are half sympathy, half concern, and Sulu doesn’t crack a single joke.

Spock, for his part, sits so far up on the edge of his chair Jim half expects him to fall off it, jabbing at his console with way more force than is strictly necessary. He flees the bridge the second his Beta shift replacement comes.

What a bitch.

Jim considers barging into his quarters later that day and demanding that they hash it out, determined to save the meager remains of her command team efficiency. After several unanswered chimes, though, the computer tells her that he’s not even there.

He’s either sulking in the science labs or at Uhura’s doorstep, begging her to take him back. Jim lays staring at the ceiling that night, practicing deep breathing exercises and convincing herself that it’s the science lab.

The second day isn’t much better. Neither is the third. The fourth day, though, they’re studying a nebula that, okay, is absolutely shaped like something _filthy_ , and Sulu lasts about ten seconds before saying, “So…is no one gonna say it?”

Sulu then cringes like he’s expecting someone to slap his hands with a ruler, but Jim snorts loudly before she can even attempt to hold it back, and it’s like someone sliced through the tension with a steak knife. While the rest of the bridge erupts into peals of laughter, Jim catches the relieved look on Uhura’s face and grins. 

* * *

 

Things limp their way back towards normalcy from there, at least where the rest of her crew is concerned. Spock still leaves the bridge like someone lit a fire under his ass after almost every shift. Once, just once, Jim allows herself to stare at the back of his head as he leaves.

She didn’t _mean_ to fall in love with the pointy-eared bastard. Fucking fuck, if she could un-love him she _would._ But he was on the bridge offering help with her harebrained plan to defeat Nero with his _I-would-cite-regulation-but-I-know-you-would-simply-ignore-it_ half-smile, and then he was standing at her side watching her father’s killer fall into a black hole, and she was fucked before she even knew she had gone there. 

And then he was on her bridge offering to provide _character references,_ and she was mega-fucked before she had any say in the matter.

And then, fuck him, he was studying her from the other side of a chess board before reaching out to tip his king over and murmuring _fascinating,_ asking for a rematch, and Jim was turbo-fucked, balls-deep in love with him from his bowl cut to his shiny shoes.

And now….well.

It’s not like he _wasn’t_ a bitch before. But it’s funny what 72 hours of marathon sex with the wrong woman will do to a fellow.

Spock said he would maintain their professional relationship, but Spock and his _Vulcans-do-not-lie_ can go fuck himself, because at least one Vulcan is a bitch ass liar. If possible, he starts acting pissier than ever. He second guesses every order she gives, to the point where Sulu actually turns around in his chair to frown at Spock once. When it’s his turn to create the schedule for shift rotation he places himself on different shifts than Jim as often as he possibly can. Chess nights are a thing of the past, and Spock refuses every request Jim makes to do paperwork together. It doesn’t hurt her efficiency any, but it’s damn lonely.

* * *

 

Bones says that because humans are psi-null the bond being blocked should hurt Spock more than it hurt her. At least, Jim thinks that’s what he said, but she was at the bottom of her fourth glass of his Emergency Bourbon at the time.

It feels _weird,_ though. She can’t tell if it’s because she got used to feeling someone in her head for three days straight or because she’s imagining things, but there’s a dull ache somewhere in the back of her mind that won’t quit. It’s nearly impalpable most of the time, but in those late-night moments, when Jim’s in her empty quarters a chasm away from Spock’s, she can feel it.

“My head’s empty,” she whines at Bones during one drinking session in his office.

“Your head’s full of good stuff, kid,” Bones reassures her gruffly. “That hobgoblin say something to you? Cause I swear I’ll—”

“No, no, like,” Jim waves a woozy hand at her own forehead, “he was _there_ for a little while. It was nice. And now he’s gone.”

“ _Nice?_ ” Bones doesn’t even try to keep the incredulity out of his voice, knocking back his bourbon. “Having that green-blooded imp rummaging around in your brain was _nice?_ ”

Jim shakes her head, unsure of how to describe it. “It felt…I dunno, _warm._ Not like New Vulcan sun warm, like…cozy. Safe.”

“How the _fu_ —” Bones cuts himself off before he can cuss, biting his fist. Then he says, “I’m cutting you off. There’s no way any sober person could go through what he did to you and say they felt _safe._ ”

Jim gives a token protest when he swipes her glass, but in the end she decides not to push it. She can’t explain it, not to Bones who’s already looking for reasons to declare Spock medically detrimental to her health, not without making it sound like she’d let Spock raw her for another three days just to have him fill that space again, hear him call her _mine_ like that.

She stares at the ceiling again that night, sleep elusive, and can’t tell if she’s fucked, fucked up, or both. 

* * *

 

She doesn’t remember when, exactly, but at some point the silence in Jim’s quarters and head got to be too much and she found herself at Uhura’s door. The first time it happened, Uhura took it in stride like the badass she is and they got fantastically drunk on replicated Galatian wine. Since then, it’s become a routine of sorts that makes the loss of chess night a bit less tragic.

“We can’t fucking keep this up,” Jim laments to her empty glass at the start of the fourth month. “It’s wrecking our efficiency as a command team and crew morale is dipping.”

“Crew morale is fine,” Uhura pacifies, getting up to refill their glasses. “We all know he’s being an asshole but it’s really nothing new.”

Jim loves her. She thinks about the hot chick she tried to pick up in a bar back in Iowa and has no clue how she got to her quarters actually _bonding,_ but she’s not about to question it. There was a time when Uhura would have sooner put a heel through Jim’s eye than let her sit and whine on her couch for hours.

Uhura takes a long sip, thinks for a second, and then says abruptly, “But if you want to transfer him I’d support you.”

Jim almost throws wine all down her front. Uhura’s unfortunate timing means Jim chokes grossly for a second before she can even gape properly.

“Are you drunk or serious?” she demands, shocked.

Uhura snorts. “Maybe a little of both,” she admits, swirling the blue liquid around in her glass. When she looks up to meet Jim’s gaze, her mouth is set in a frown.

“It’s bad enough what he did to you,” she says then, words tumbling out like she’s been keeping a lid on them for a while, “what he’s still doing to you. I could kick his ass for that alone.”

With the caution of diffusing an explosive device, Jim tries, “He’s been pissy, yeah, but—”

“Jim, I’m not even sure if you understand what happened that day,” Uhura cuts in, eyes flashing in a way that sends red flags up in Jim’s head. “No one even gave you the chance to challenge. They gave _me_ the chance to challenge, but not you.”

It rings a bell in the back of Jim’s mind—some ancient element of the mating ritual called cauliflower or whatever. But the idea of making Spock fight to the _death_ for her almost makes her wine make a reappearance.

“Shit, Uhura,” she shakes her head, “You know I researched the hell out of Pon Farr the second you guys told me what was up. Do you honestly think I would’ve said _no?_ ”

“You did say no,” Uhura points out, “A lot, actually. Loudly.”

Jim rolls her eyes, noting that the cabin does a little bit of a spin. Definitely more than a little bit tipsy, then. “I panicked because it was supposed to be _you_ ,” she says bluntly. Uhura flinches a little and Jim has to remind herself that this whole thing has been hard on her too. “But if there was really no way for it to be you, do you really think I would have said no to him when he would have _died?_ ”

Uhura shrugs, takes a sip from her glass. “I don’t know,” she admits, “Probably not, because you’re you and you knew he could have died. But you still should’ve had the choice. And now you’re fucking _married_ , Jim!” she gesticulates so broadly that blue liquid nearly flies everywhere. “You’re _married_ to him! You can fuck around and even marry someone else on Earth, but the shame you’d bring on yourself could wreck your career. And no one gave you a say in the matter. _Shit._ ”

Now it’s Jim’s turn to flinch, because she hadn’t really thought of that. She’s been so wrapped up in Spock for so long that it never really occurred to her to want someone else, but now…damn, she’ll never even have that option. Not without risking almost everything.

When she thinks about it, sure. It was a little fucked, the way T’Pau just assumed that a pre-existing bond meant pre-existing consent. But even looking back on the whole train wreck that was that wedding, Jim can’t imagine a single scenario where she would’ve let Spock die.

She’s not sure how to say that to Uhura without admitting how hard she’s in love with her ex, so she takes a swig of the blue wine and lets her avoidance answer for her. It tastes a little bit like ginger and blueberries.

There’s a beat of heavy silence, and then Uhura switches tracks again and reveals, “He actually had the nerve to proposition me again.” She sounds so pissed that Jim wonders if _Spock_ will have a heel in his eye soon. “I know he’s a valuable member of the crew and respected across the board but if he keeps this shit up I’ll file a complaint, I swear I will.”

Wow. _Wow._ “Wow,” Jim says.

“Yeah,” Uhura replies, raising her glass again.

It’s the most ironic fucking thing that Uhura’s door chimes a nanosecond later.

Uhura gets up with a giant sigh, but Jim knows who’s at the door before she even opens it.

“Nyota.”

And there he fucking is, all blue shirt and black hair and eyebrows. Jim hates him a little bit right then, because he’s one of the only people capable of making her feel like roadside trash and _fuck that noise._

Uhura’s jaw twitches. Jim really loves her.

“No, Spock,” Uhura says, soft but firm. Jim gets to her feet, standing just out of sight behind Uhura’s shoulder. It’s a dirty trick because she knows Spock is going to say something she isn’t meant to hear, but the petty fourteen-year-old in her relishes in how deep he’s about to dig himself.

“If you would allow me to express…” Spock pleads, equally as soft. It’s a tone Jim has never ever heard him use. _Soulmate, my left asscheek._

“This is the third time I’ve told you no,” Uhura cuts him off, “My answer isn’t going to change.”

“I…she…I cannot abide—” Spock starts, but then he catches sight of Jim over Uhura’s shoulder and freezes. His face drains of color and he comes very close to letting a full-on shocked expression through, but it doesn’t even matter because Jim’s too goddamn hurt to even get her relish on.

Trash, meet roadside.

She’s not sure what she says to Uhura (if she says anything at all) but somehow she’s slipped past them both and out of the room into the _waytoofuckingbright_ corridor. She definitely hears Uhura call after her and later she’ll imagine that she heard Spock too because she likes to torture herself like that. But then she’s at the end of the hall and she’s in the turbolift and she’s in another corridor and she’s standing at a door and she’s inside a room and Bones is standing up from his desk looking super concerned and oh hey, she’s crying.

Bones holds her while she ugly cries all over his jimjams, looking mad enough to shit. He doesn’t ask, though, just rubs a hand over her back and says “It’s ok, darlin’, that’s alright” until she’s regained some semblance of control.

“Why couldn’t you have been my soulmate?” she asks his shirt miserably. Bones sighs.

“We just ain’t like that, Jimmy,” he says, low and soothing. “I’m glad for it, too,” he adds, “Gets messy. Always does.”

“This is so fucking far beyond messy, Bones,” Jim whines, sniffing loudly. Bones doesn’t reply to that except to say “I know” a bunch of times, but it’s stupidly comforting anyway. 

* * *

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up to an alarm Bones must have set for her. He’s already gone, but a glass of water sits next to the bed with her PADD, which displays a message saying he’s told Spock to cover the first few hours of Alpha for her. There’s also about 68 messages from Uhura, each getting more concerned with every ten minutes Jim didn’t answer. Another one pings its arrival while Jim is getting dressed.

 

**N.UHURA:**

**Holy shit if you do not walk through those lift doors in five minutes I am shoving the heel of my boot through Spock’s eye, say I fucking won’t**

**07.46.34**

 

Jim really, really loves her.

She types out a reply quickly because honestly, Uhura fucking would:

 

**J.KIRK:**

**Stand down, sailor, I’m on my way up.**

**07.47.23**

 

It’s a good thing she’s alone in the turbolift because the pep talk she gives herself would have looked really weird from the outside. She squares her jaw before the doors open, because she’s a badass starship captain and her stupid Vulcan space husband doesn’t get to ruin both her work _and_ her love life.

“Keptin on ze bridge,” Chekov announces. Spock turns to glance at her, his stupid face completely blank, and nods his stupid head before he gets up from her chair to go back to his stupid station.

“Morning everybody,” she announces, giving Uhura a barely-there nod of assurance as she passes her station. She can feel the curiosity in the eyes that follow her to her chair, but she sits and barks “Status report,” and the spell is broken.

Turns out Scotty still hasn’t broken her ship (which she knows he would never, she just likes to say that to flip him out) but the first half of the shift is still spent filling out every form of paperwork to ever work paper. Scotty wants to implement 5000 upgrades that actually _might_ break her ship, the hot new strand of Andorian Flu has laid waste to a third of her Science officers, and there’s a potential first contact that Admiral Barnett is going to want to speak to her about later.

It’s good, though. She’s so focused on the ship’s business that she can almost forget the dickhead behind her. Chekov and Sulu mutter equations at each other, Uhura’s fingernails tap a steady rhythm on her console, and if Jim sits still enough she can feel the quiet thrum of the Warp Core beneath her feet. It’s a nice reminder of why she’s here, what she _really_ loves.

“Captain, Admiral Barnett for you,” Uhura drags her from her thoughts. Jim nods.

“I’ll take it in my ready room, Lieutenant,” she says, rising. “Spock, with me.”

“Aye, Captain,” Spock says smoothly, rising from his station.

Professional. Pro- _fessional._

They enter the cabin without a word.

“Captain Kirk,” Admiral Barnett (Wrinkly Old White Guy #8 in Jim’s head) says from her console. He looks like someone put a thumb tack on his chair but he’s too proud to get up and admit he fell for it.

“Admiral Barnett,” Jim greets, nodding. Spock probably nods beside her, too, because Barnett’s eyes flick to him briefly.

“Captain Kirk,” Barnett replies, “Commander Spock. I understand that I am to congratulate you two.”

Jim freezes. How the fuck—?

 “Your felicitations are appreciated, Admiral,” Spock says smoothly. Jim has to fight not to swivel around in her chair and gape at him because _wow,_ what a bitch ass liar.

But Barnett looks satisfied, and the moment passes. “About half a century ago,” he says, “we conducted an observational mission on the planet Dengri and its inhabitants. Intelligence collected from that mission indicated that the civilization would be ready for first contact at approximately this point in time.”

Jim wants to point out that the last time ‘intelligence’ said a planet was ready for first contact, the chief of the tribe they found tried to take Uhura as his 87th wife and have Ensign Mathers roasted on a spit. She doesn’t interrupt, though, and gives herself brownie points for her professionalism.

“You are to establish contact and, if possible, communication with the Dengriate leaders,” Old Wrinkly White Guy continues, “and assess their willingness to ally with the Federation.”

“Copy, Admiral,” Jim says, already picturing the shade of red Bones is gonna turn when she tells him they have another first contact.

“Good,” Barnett nods, then adds, “Importance of success here is critical, Captain Kirk. Dengri has some of the most promising dilithium prospects we’ve ever seen.”

Fucking bunch of greedyguts, the entire admiralty. Every single first contact they’ve been assigned has had something to do with mining prospects or weaponry deals, wrapped up with a nice _let-them-roast-you-on-a-spit-if-necessary_ stamp of importance.

Barnett cuts off the comm, leaving Jim alone with Spock. It’s awkward as fuck; the atmosphere is so thick Jim considers getting up to fiddle with the climate controls.

Finally, Jim sucks it up and says, “I’m guessing it was you who filed that paperwork.”

Spock doesn’t change his stance a millimeter, but he does incline his head.

“While unintentional, there is no denying the bond’s existence,” he replies, his disgruntled tone making Jim’s hackles rise. “It was logical that the Admiralty and relevant parties be made aware, as a Vulcan’s bondmate is his legal next of kin in the event of death.”

He says _bondmate_ the way Bones might say _processed sugar. Professional,_ Jim chants to herself, then says, “Okay. If that’s settled, we’ll focus on the matter at hand. Mr. Spock, have Chekov plot a course to Dengri and get an estimated time of arrival. I’ll alert all relevant departments to put together a brief of known intelligence on the Dengriates and set a time for an all-hands meeting.”

“Aye, Captain,” Spock says to the wall of her ready room, moving to gather his PADD from her desk.

“And since I have you here,” Jim adds before her courage can fail, “I’d like a word.”

If possible, every muscle in Spock’s body seems to coil tighter. He delicately sets his PADD back on the desk and turns to face her, standing at perfect parade rest and staring at a spot just past Jim’s left ear. “Captain,” he acknowledges, jaw locked.

She wants to scream. Wants to shout _I fucking love you and you’re doing the Merengue on my heart, you dick,_ or _You were_ this fucking close _to actually getting to know me,_ or _How long are we going to act like you putting a bond in my head and then fucking me cross-eyed is somehow my fault?_

The anger spikes at the impassive look on Spock’s face.

“Get over yourself,” Jim bites before she can stop herself.

Spock’s eyes snap to her face for half a second before darting back away. “Elaborate,” he says.

“You’re acting like a teenager who got rejected by his prom date,” Jim accuses, “You’ve allowed your private opinions to color your professional attitude and it’s unacceptable.”

Spock’s mouth twitches downward, just a fraction. “My efficiency rate has not—”

“I don’t mean how timely you are with paperwork, and you know it,” Jim cuts in before he can bullshit further, “I’m talking about your respect for your fellow officers and for me as your captain.”

Spock opens his mouth again, but Jim ploughs ahead. “You second-guess every move I make and you do so in a manner that undermines my authority with my crew,” she declares. “You let your frustration with your personal life out on your subordinates every time they cross you wrong. You have made repeated and inappropriate advances on a senior officer despite her explicit requests that you desist.”

Spock’s frown deepens at that, maybe because Jim brought Uhura into it or because he didn’t expect her to use an adult word like “desist”. Fuck it, Jim thinks.

“You are one of the most if not _the_ most respected officer in the ‘fleet,” she finishes boldly, egged on by the fact that she’s actually somehow gotten Spock to shut up, “but if you carry on with this behavior I will have you transferred, mark my words.”

She won’t, and she probably never could, but Spock doesn’t seem inclined to call her on her bluff. Actually, he looks the way Jim imagines he might after being chastised by his nanny.

Jim stares him down for what feels like an eon, daring him to look her in the eye, but he never does. Finally, he tilts his head a quarter of an inch and says, “Acknowledged, Captain.”

_Fuck you. Fucking fucker fuck you, you fucking—_ “Good,” she snatches up his PADD and holds it out for him, probably a little more pointedly than necessary. Spock reaches out to take it, and for half a heartbeat their fingers brush.

It feels like she just stuck her finger in an old-fashioned socket. The shock travels all the way up her arm, whiting out her brain for a moment. Jim jerks her arm back with a hiss, almost making Spock drop his PADD.

“What the fuck,” Jim spits, shaking her hand to rid it of the phantom sensation. The throb in her head has multiplied out of nowhere. Great.

 Spock, meanwhile, actually looks shaken. He doesn’t drop his PADD, but he stares at the hand that touched hers with a tiny line between his brows. It’s clear that he felt whatever the fuck that was too.

“I am unsure…” he murmurs, voice suddenly losing its sharp edge.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim decides, unwilling to deal with both her newly pounding headache and her stupid space husband _and_ their new mission. “Dismissed, Commander.”

Spock actually _hesitates,_ mouth even open like he wants to say something else. After a beat, though, he leaves just as quickly as ever. It’s cool, though, because Jim can imagine that his tail is firmly between his legs.

* * *

 

**N. UHURA:**

**What did you do to Spock??**

**18.23.08**

 

**J. KIRK:**

**Slapped him on the wrist. Has he gotten worse?**

**18.23.55**

**N.** **UHURA:**

**No, he actually just apologized for making me uncomfortable?? Wtf did you say to him?**

**18.24.45**

 

“Huh,” Jim huffs reading that last one. Well, at least one of them will get some peace.

It’s going to be three days before they make it to Dengri, and it’s a waiting game until then. Uhura has some Language Shit to do in one of the labs, so descending on her quarters is out. Finished with her shift and flattened by a shiny new headache, Jim dicks around on her console for a little while, considers dicking around with some Warp equations or the Fibonacci Primes, and eventually settles for a vintage holovid and a healthy dose of equal parts brandy and self-pity. If she’s got to nurse a broken heart, she may as well do it properly.

Two more holovids later, she faintly hears Spock enter their shared bathroom and step into the fresher. Jim sits still and listens to him go through his bedtime routine, uncomfortably aware of the now-heavy pulsing in the back of her mind. It’s honestly a little pathetic.

Spock exits the bathroom, and Jim waxes poetic for just a second, wondering how he could be so close but so damn untouchable. She doesn’t have the energy to watch a fourth vid but she’s not really tired, so she pretty much sits there staring into her glass of brandy for a while and thinking about how much the universe likes to fuck her sideways. It’s moments like these—a touch drunk, a touch lonely, and a lot sad—when it all lines itself up neatly like one of those Russian dolls Chekov loves.

Her dad dying minutes after her birth. Winona taking off. Sam taking off. Frank. Tarsus. Finally pulling herself out of the gutter and making something of herself, just to have any chance at a meaningful relationship snatched away.

God. Just write down the story of her life and title it the _Sad Bitch Chronicles_. Considering Tarsus, it’s really saying something that this might be the worst chapter yet.

* * *

 

Two days later, her headache has reached splitting proportions. She considers going to bitch to Bones about it, but she’s nearly positive it’s from this mother _fucker_ of a bond. Spock may have apologized to Uhura but he still won’t speak to Jim outside of professional matters or look her in the eye, so going to him for help is out.

When 0200 comes and goes and the throbbing hasn’t abated, Jim wonders down to the gym in an effort to exhaust herself. If she has to conduct this Dengriate mission tomorrow both with a headache _and_ no sleep, she may legitimately shoot Spock out an airlock.

Because the universe likes to fuck her like that, Spock is there when she enters the gym.

It’s one for the books that he actually acknowledges her presence, even if it’s only with a nod and a curt, “Captain.”

“Commander,” she greets back, taking a moment to mourn the days when she would ask him to call her Jim.

She’s not here to indulge in drama, though. She’s here because she’s goddamn tired and she’s pretty sure it’s Spock’s fault. So she sets the treadmill to a punishing speed and does her best to ignore him.

Five miles later, though, he’s still there.

“It is my understanding that humans require sufficient rest before undertaking large tasks,” he ventures. Jim has to school her face so it doesn’t show her shock that he’s actually talking to her unprompted. “With the Dengriate contact in 4.3 hours, I admit I am surprised to see you here.”

Jim shrugs. “Can’t sleep,” she says casually, biting back a swear when her head gives another dull throb. She picks up a set of dumbbells and goes back to ignoring him, sweat beginning to drip down her back.

Unfortunately, Spock seems to have chosen this moment to become talkative for the first time in months. Standing awkwardly behind her while she goes through her reps, he suddenly says, “I, too, have found it…difficult…to meditate.”

Jim lowers the dumbbells but doesn’t drop them. She should be happy that Spock is talking to her, she knows she should, but she finds that she really isn’t in the mood for this right now. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, starting another round of reps in lieu of further responding.

She must have stepped into an alternate universe, because Spock’s not done. “I find myself…” he says carefully, “…frustrated. With our current situation.”

Later, Jim will look back at that and wonder if maybe Spock was trying to extend an olive branch there. Maybe if he’d had better timing or an ounce of tact, they might have had a productive conversation about how to move forward. But right then, Jim is sweaty and exhausted and the throbbing in her head hasn’t abated, and she’s sick to death of the goddamn drama.

She throws the dumbbells to the floor and whirls on him. “Might I remind you,” she bites, “that every single thing about this is the product of _your_ choices?”

Spock actually takes a step back, probably unconsciously. Jim realizes that she must look pretty scary, bags under her eyes and face beet red from exertion, shirt soaked in sweat.

“I’m sorry that you’re _frustrated_ with the situation _you_ created,” Jim wipes angrily at her brow with the hem of her shirt, “but all I’ve done is tried to follow your wishes. I’ve sucked it up, Spock,” she points at him, rewarded by the sight of his eyebrow shooting for his hairline, “It’s your turn now.”

Then she stalks off towards the showers, leaving Spock standing in the middle of the empty gym.

She seethes her way through her shower and all the way back to her quarters, then seethes some more at her ceiling once she’s in bed. Spock must come back at some point, but he never ventures into the bathroom or requests to enter, and Jim doesn’t sleep a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a few comments on the first chapter from people with some unease over the reactions of Jim's friends. This chapter was pretty much already written by the time I posted the first one, but nevertheless I hope it hits most of the points those comments brought up. This is all through Jim's eyes and in the context of her personality, which means a lot of compartmentalizing and defensive humor. Even though she's angry now, she's still not done processing what went down. 
> 
> As ever, comments are always always appreciated.


	3. On Human Sacrifices and General Fuckery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something fucky here, but Jim’s clinging to him like a curtain because her legs don’t want to act like legs so things might just be fucky in general.

Turns out, the Dengriates do not like Starfleet. Then it turns out that they do not like humans. Then it turns out that having blonde hair is a sign of the devil on Dengri. Anyway, that’s how Jim gets thrown off a pyramid.

* * *

 

She wakes all fuzzy an indeterminate amount of time later and she’s not even completely sure that she’s awake. Her eyelids give her a resounding _fuck you_ when she tries to open them, and every limb feels like it’s made of lead so moving is definitely out of the question.

“—last EEG showed signs of improvement but I really wouldn’t—“ someone is saying, and the words make sense but it sounds like she’s hearing them from under water. They cut off abruptly, though, and for a second it’s so quiet that Jim thinks she must have checked out again.

Then someone else says, “She is aware,” and Jim wants to respond, _that’s debatable._

“How do you—?”

“I sense her,” the other voice insists, “She can hear us.”

Pressure, somewhere. Squeeze. “Hey, Jim, darlin’, can you hear me? Can you try openin’ your eyes?”

Jim knows that voice. She likes the owner of that voice. There’s just no way in hell she’s doing what he asked.

“I do not believe she is capable, Doctor,” the other voice says quietly. That voice is weird. She isn’t sure how she feels about it.

Another squeeze. “That’s okay, darlin’” the first voice soothes, “You take your time and come back to us when you’re ready.”

_Deal,_ Jim thinks as she sinks back under. 

* * *

 

When she wakes again, she gets the distinct vibe that it’s nighttime. She tries cracking an eye experimentally and is delighted when it obeys. Sure enough, the Sickbay lights are dimmed, throwing everything into the weird glow of the various neon vital monitors that surround her. Shit, there’s a lot of them.

There’s also definitely a tube down her throat, and she doesn’t care for that shit at _all._ She considers freaking out about it so a nurse will come running, but she doesn’t really have the energy. Come to think of it, going back to sleep and dealing with it in the morning doesn’t sound like the worst idea—

The curtain separating her bed from the rest of Sickbay jerks open, and Jim’s left leg kicks out in shock. Then she wonders if she’s actually dreaming after all, because Spock is standing at the foot of her bed looking like he’s never seen her before.

“You are awake,” he says helpfully, then strides over to the comm button next to her bed and all but slams it. “Spock to McCoy.”

It takes a second for Bones’ muzzy voice to come back over the comm. “Spock, it’s three in the—”

“The Captain has woken,” Spock cuts him off, his stiff posture and staunch refusal to even look at her a stark contrast to his urgent tone.

“I’m on my way.” Bones cuts off the comm.

Spock turns to look at her then, and she must look pretty damn out of it because he actually lays a hand on her arm. It’s warm.

“Do not go back to sleep yet,” he says softly, which is a shame because Jim _really_ wants to, “Doctor McCoy will assess whether we can remove the breathing tube.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just kind of hovers while she stares at him stupidly, and less than a minute later Bones bursts into Sickbay. By the sound of his breathing, he ran.

“Jimmy,” he huffs, reaching down to squeeze her ankle while he narrows his eyes at her readings. “Your lungs look good, darlin’, and I think we can take you off that ventilator. You can go back to sleep after, okay?” He squeezes her hand next, and she tries to squeeze back but her muscles feel like jelly. Spock looks like someone just rammed the pole up his ass an inch deeper.

Bones runs a hand through her sticky hair before he disconnects the ventilator, and when he tells her to cough it turns into a whole ass fit, but Bones rubs her chest to ease the pressure and the warmth from Spock’s hand on her arm never really dissipates so it’s almost okay.

 Spock hands her a cup of water with a straw before she can even ask and she could fucking kiss him for it. Except that she won’t, because it’s weird that he’s even still here. Come to think of it, it’s weird that he was ever here in the first place. How did he—?

“Jim,” Bones calls softly, making her wrench her eyes open without realizing she’d closed them, “d’you think you could stay awake for just a little while longer so I can run some tests?”

_I think you can kiss my ass,_ she almost responds, but her body answers for her and she’s clocked back out before she can even think about it. 

* * *

 

 She claws her way back up again a while later, when the lights are back on and Sickbay is bustling with the latest batch of idiot ensigns. Nurse Chapel’s face swims into view first, and she smiles.

“Good morning, Captain,” Chapel says, “It’s good to see you.”

Shit. Chapel’s never nice to her unless it was _really_ close. Something tells her she’s going to have her shit wrecked by Bones soon.

“Mornin’,” she says fuzzily to Chapel, then, “’Ow long?”

Chapel’s smile twitches a bit, which is Very Bad. She looks like she’s debating even telling Jim the truth, and then she says, “It’s been a while, Captain. Dr. McCoy can tell you more when he sees you.”

Uh oh.

“Fucking _hell,_ Jim,” Bones announces himself a second later, snatching the curtain aside and making Jim’s leg do that surprise jerk again. She remembers suddenly that Spock was here and did the same thing—except, was he actually? Or is she just on all the drugs?

“’ullo, Bnz,” she slurs, and Bones looks somehow even more irate. “’m Ion drugs?” 

“You’re on whatever the hell I decide you need, you damn fool,” Bones snarls, striding over to the head of her bed. Oh man, he is _vibrating._ “I’m treating you for critical organ failure and breakage to 80% of your skeleton. You tell me if I should take you off them.”

“Zat bad?” Jim asks, taking in his clenched fists and red face. Bones takes a deep breath that looks like it’s going to turn into a shouting spree, but he must read something in the stupid look on her face because he deflates at the last second.

“Jesus, Jim,” he sighs, suddenly looking absolutely beaten. He sits gingerly on the side of Jim’s biobed, catching her hand in both of his when it reaches clumsily for him. “This wasn’t like before, kid,” he continues, much more softly, “I didn’t just almost lose you, you _died._ If Spock hadn’t been there I never would have been able to get you back.”

“Spock?” Jim’s brow furrows.

“I’ll tell you later,” Bones says, squeezing her hand. “Let me run some tests and then you can go back to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna,” Jim protests for the hell of it. It’s not worth a lot, though, because she conks out pretty much the second Bones finishes making her push against his hands and shining lights in her eyes. 

* * *

 

The third time she wakes up, things are a little bit clearer and holy _fuck,_ that hurts. Also Spock is there.

“Um,” she greets him.

“It is Gamma shift,” Spock answers before she can ask, “You have been asleep for twelve point three hours. It has been three weeks, two days and eleven hours since you were attacked on Dengri. It was Alpha shift when you last woke, which is why I was not present.”

“How’d you know I was awake?” she asks, fumbling for the button that will raise the head of her bed. She tries not to show it, but her head is spinning a bit because _holy fucking shit, three weeks._

Spock doesn’t answer immediately, instead placing a hand on her arm to still her and pressing the button himself. It’s only after Jim is partially upright that he says, “Dr. McCoy informed me.”

He’s lying. Bones probably did tell him eventually, but that’s not how he knew. She can’t tell if she’s pissed that he’s trying to lie to her or if it’s cute that he thinks she can’t tell. What she doesn’t understand is _why_ he would lie to her, or how he knew she was awake if it wasn’t through Bones.

There’s something she’s missing, and it feels like it should be pretty damn obvious. It dangles just out of her reach, though, and she’s too damn high to do anything about it.

“Bones says I died,” she says instead. Spock’s jaw actually clenches at that, and she wonders if she just said something insensitive. Fuck it, she thinks, plowing ahead: “He says you’re the reason he could bring me back.”

Spock fixes his gaze somewhere above her head, making a show of reading her vital signs. “I do not believe that now is an appropriate time for this conversation,” he says after a long pause.

“It’s not the appropriate time for _anything,_ ” Jim whines.

Spock’s gaze returns to hers at that. It strikes her that this is probably the first time he’s looked her in the eye since she bitched him out over the Uhura incident. He looks tired.

“You first awoke only thirty-six point seven hours ago,” Spock says evenly, “You have endured massive trauma to your person and remain heavily medicated. There is indeed much to discuss, but you are not currently fit to do so.”

She really hates it when he’s right. She huffs, gently because balls if he isn’t right about that trauma, and she could swear the corner of his lip actually twitches. It squeezes something in her chest.

“I miss you,” the words are out before she can stop them, and she instantly wants to curl up into a ball and die. _Nononono, don’t say that not to_ Spock—

Spock’s gaze cuts her to the quick. “I am in the room with you, Captain,” he replies.

“No,” _stop it, oh my god stop fucking talking,_ “I mean…we used to play chess.” Spock opens his mouth, but Jim keeps going. “We used to spend time together, just doing paperwork or whatever or breakfast at the mess or, or chess, and I _liked_ it,” oh no, “and I thought you liked it too, maybe, and I don’t know if we were friends yet but I thought maybe we were getting there—” oh _no,_ now she’s crying, “—and now this whole mess has wrecked it all and I don’t know how to talk to you and, and—” she sniffs, and Spock looks horrified, “—and I don’t want to play chess with anyone else,” she finishes miserably, chin wobbling like a baby as Spock does his best impression of a slab of marble. She sniffs one more time for good measure, then reaches a hand up to paw at her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbles, resolving to bitch at Bones until he takes her off these fucking drugs.

Spock doesn’t say anything, but slowly, painstakingly, he does something unbelievably human. Leaning forward carefully, he pries Jim’s hand away from her face and, tucking a shirtsleeve over his palm, wipes the moisture from her cheeks with the soft edge of the fabric. It’s a gesture she could see his mom doing when he was a baby, and his face is closer to hers than it has been since New Vulcan, and god, Jim is _so_ fucked.

“I, too, enjoyed our chess matches,” Spock says finally, leaning back into his seat. “Logic dictates that regret is illogical, yet I find I regret much about the way I have behaved towards you. I am sorry, Jim.” Something faint whispers in the back of Jim’s head—regret, sadness, shame—but it’s gone the next instant.

Jim tries not to sniff again, but it happens anyway. “S’okay,” she mutters, even though it’s _really_ not.

“It is not,” Spock agrees evenly, “but we need not discuss it now. You are tired, Jim. I will be here when you wake.” 

* * *

 

He actually is there when she wakes next. Actually, he’s there almost _every time_ she wakes up for the rest of the time Bones keeps her in sickbay. If he isn’t already sitting in the same seat next to her bed, he strides in moments later like he smelled that she was awake or some shit. Most of the time he just sits there and works on his PADD—captain shit _Jim_ should be doing, dammit—but it’s cool because Jim’s not really up to much for the first few days except for bitching about how Bones won’t let her eat real food yet and intermittently openly staring at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing here.

When she’s able to stay awake for longer stretches, Spock starts bringing his chess board with him. The first time he does it, Jim blushes crimson thinking about how she literally cried over chess, and then she falls asleep three quarters of the way into the match. Spock just leaves the board where it is, though, and they finish the game the next time she’s up for it. Jim loses, but it’s totally because she’s still on drugs.

Spock being there all the time also means that he’s there for some weird stuff, though, like Nurse Prewitt changing her catheter bag ( _“It is illogical to be embarrassed by one’s bodily functions, Captain,” “It’s a_ bag of pee, _Spock,”)_ and Bones bending her legs into weird positions to help her muscles stay active ( _“Is that exercise particularly helpful, Doctor?” “When you get a medical degree I’ll take your qualms into account, Spock, now shove it.” “I fail to see why I need to push anything.” “Oh, you son of a—”)_ and being asked to recite her name, rank, and birthday so many times she half expects Spock to just jump in and do it for her.

He picks up weird habits, too, like covering her hand with his when she moves wrong and remembers that she broke almost everything that makes up her existence and bringing her a second blanket when she says her toes are cold. He still hasn’t explained a damn thing, even though Bones has been weaning her off the pain meds for days, but there’s something alarming about the fact that Bones seems to completely accept his continued vigil.

“Why the hell is he here all the time?” she caves and asks Bones out of frustration when Spock is on the bridge for once. “The last conversation we had before Dengri I told him to shove it up his ass.”

Bones stops whatever he’s doing to her cardiomonitor and gives her his _I’m shocked that you made it into adulthood without choking on your own spit_ look.

“I wasn’t exaggerating when I said you died, Jim,” he says sternly. “You _died._ His mind is linked to yours, and you _died._ ”

“But the bond’s been blocked for months,” Jim insists.

Bones shakes his head and snatches up his PADD. “I’m not the person to talk to about this,” he says, then abruptly changes the subject. “Your readings look good. You can start getting out of bed and walking tomorrow. If you do everything I say I’ll let you out in another week.”

“Five days,” Jim counters for the sake of arguing.

“A week.”

“Six days.”

“A week.”

“Fuck you.”

“In your dreams, kid,” Bones grumbles, leaving her to simmer. 

* * *

 

Nyota comes by a few times, mostly when Spock is on watch to avoid that soul-crushing awkwardness that comes with seeing an ex you threatened to bring up on harassment charges. The first time, she stands over Jim’s bed with her hands on her hips and says, “If you hadn’t broken every bone in your body I would smack the shit out of you. _Never_ scare me like that again.” Then she smoothes Jim’s hair and asks if she needs a glass of water. Jim adores her.

The other times she visits Nyota makes a point of avoiding the topic of ship business, chatting about everything and nothing, sometimes recounting old Bantu legends that’ve been passed down for generations in her family. Her tone and cadence are so soothing that Jim falls asleep a few times, but Nyota never seems to mind.

Once, Jim has the presence of mind to say, “Spock’s being fucking weird.”

Nyota smiles, but it’s tinged with unexpected sadness. “He was hurt pretty bad,” she admits, “Just roll with it. Or tell him to fuck off, if you want to. He’ll explain eventually.”

Jim eyes her. “Will he actually?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Nyota says simply, and then adds, “I told him I would move the decimals in all of his calculations one point over if he didn’t.”

Jim _adores_ her. 

* * *

 

Turns out, she sucks at walking. She used to be pretty okay at it, but apparently spending a month lying down will do that to you. Spock is still there all the time, taking up the role of crutch with surprising readiness.

“Fuck,” she spits two days in, halfway across sickbay and already sweating. Spock holds her up like a rag doll and doesn’t comment on her wobbly knees.

 “Indeed,” he replies serenely, and they walk the rest of the way across the bay in relative silence.

“Did you feel me die?” Jim blurts out a third of the way back to her bed. Spock blinks and his jaw does that twitchy thing again. There again, a whisper of emotion she’s pretty sure isn’t hers—pain, and a hell of a lot of it. Jim tries to hide her wince.

“That is a simplified way of describing what happened,” Spock answers after a long pause.

“Bones said you felt me die because of the bond,” Jim insists, “but I thought you blocked it.”

“I had,” Spock says shiftily. There’s something fucky here, but Jim’s clinging to him like a curtain because her legs don’t want to act like legs so things might just be fucky in general.

 They make it back to her corner of Sickbay and Spock deposits her on the bed. She tries not to huff like she just ran a marathon but it doesn’t work all the way.

“Is that why you’re here all the time? Did me dying hurt the bond and scare you?” Bones’ voice is in the back of her head telling her _not to push it, you moron,_ but she’s bored and sore and sweaty and Bones won’t let her have her PADD so this is her singular form of entertainment for the moment.

Spock takes even longer to reply this time. He pulls Jim’s blanket up over her even though she’s not cold and hands her a glass of water even though she was perfectly capable of reaching it. Jim’s never seen him actually _stall_ before.

Finally, Spock stands ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back and says, “The bond was seconds from severing completely as your brain ceased all life functions. My shields were torn down by the force of it. I had to perform an extended deep meld in order to keep your neural pathways active until Dr. McCoy could resuscitate you. The experience was, I admit, jarring enough to leave me briefly incapacitated. Leaving your side since then has been…difficult.”

Jim stares at Spock. Spock stares at the wall.

“Oh,” she says finally.

“I must meditate,” Spock replies.

“Yeah,” Jim agrees, but he’s already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. 
> 
> Okay, so this one took longer to crank out than I thought it would. I actually cut it short because it was going to be _massive_ , which is why the ending may seem a bit abrupt. They'll talk, I promise. There's a ton of loose ends that the final chapter is going to tie up, and a lot of important conversations that need to be had before anyone can take any steps forward.
> 
> Comments are eternally appreciated, but since finals week starts in five days I wouldn't mind a hug instead


	4. Hope, Healing, and Carpet Patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit fire and save matches, fuck a duck and see what hatches.

 

It doesn’t really occur to her what _extended deep meld_ means until after Bones has released her to walk shakily back to her quarters, swatting Spock away when he tries to help.

She’s sitting at her console, having banished Spock to his own quarters, when it strikes her: _Extended Deep Meld._

That means—

What if he—

Oh, _fuck._

On a hunch, she opens an encrypted window on her console. Hacking into the security footage feed from Sickbay is so easy she makes a mental note to talk to Cupcake about upping the encryption around it. From there, it’s the work of seconds to access the file from the day of the Dengri mission.

She has to fast-forward a few hours because she doesn’t remember exactly how long it took for the Dengri to decide she was a demon. Somewhere around 1800, though, sickbay seems to flood with people, and Jim lets the footage play at real speed.

Bones comes shrieking in first—or, at least it looks like he’s shrieking because Jim has the sound off. Medbay springs into action immediately, and a millisecond later a stretcher glides in behind him.

It takes Jim a second to process what she’s seeing, because her body may have been fucked up by the fall but she’s pretty sure it was never shaped like _that._ Then, with almost an audible click, it occurs to her that there’s more than one person on that stretcher.

Spock is half kneeling, half laying over her, hands latched to her head and okay, wow, yeah, she looks pretty dead. Holy _shit_ , there’s way more blood on the outside of her body than there should be. Bones really wasn’t exaggerating when he said Spock was the only reason she pulled through—if the way he doesn’t move to budge Spock while he preps the operating theatre is any indication, that meld is the only thing keeping her from clocking out permanently.

The sight of it makes the hairs on the back of Jim’s neck stand at attention. She can’t see exactly, but it looks like Spock’s eyes are squeezed shut, and his mouth wasn’t even turned down that hard when he was telling her how much of a mistake marrying her was.

Then, Bones must finish prepping the OR, because he, M’Benga, and several nurses start trying to coax Spock off the stretcher. Spock shows positively zero intention of budging or that he’s even aware that they’re trying to move him—fucking hell, how deep had he gone? How close was he to being dragged over the edge with her? Jim feels a little sick.

It takes M’Benga wrapping an arm around Spock’s torso and full-on hauling him off Jim for anything to happen. From there Jim is whisked into the OR—wow wow _wow_ that’s a lot of blood—and Spock is left standing just outside it with a few nurses, M’Benga having been evidently called in to help Bones. Nurse Hawthorne is talking to Spock, even touching his arm to try to get him to respond, but Spock neither answers nor looks at her. After a moment, barely perceptible in the footage playback, he sways where he stands.  Then, he tilts his head back, screws up his face, and _screams._

“ _Shit,_ ” Jim spits involuntarily, chills sweeping her from head to toe. Everything about this picture is wrong, _wrong,_ this isn’t supposed to happen to Spock not him not _Spock—_

It gets worse; Spock starts clawing at his head, doubled over, inconsolable even as the leftover Medbay staff rushes to assist him, collapsing completely before they can get him onto a stretcher, stiffening, _seizing—_

“Captain?”

Jim makes an inhuman noise and flinches so hard it’s a wonder she doesn’t fall off her chair. Spock—Jesus, _Spock_ —is standing just inside her quarters, regarding her with vague concern. Jim presses buttons blindly until the video on her console freezes, completely incapable of breaking his gaze and thankful that her monitor is facing away from him.

Spock takes a step into the cabin, slowly, with the caution of someone approaching a spooked animal.  

“You did not respond to my request for entry,” he says by way of explanation, “I became…concerned.”

“Uh,” Jim says, willing her heartbeat to slow, “It’s fine. What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?”

It’s a shit cover, and the wariness doesn’t leave Spock’s eyes. He does come to stand at a less cautious distance, though. Still staring her down, he opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“Captain,” he starts, and Jim has to fight down the instinct to correct him, “if I may, you appear…distressed. It is unwise to tax yourself thus so soon after your release from medical care.”

_Uh yeah so what about how_ distressed _you were a little while back cause you looked pretty fucking_ distressed _yourself and no one told me—_

“When you said you were ‘briefly incapacitated’,” Jim says carefully, patting herself on the back for her tact, “you didn’t tell me the whole truth.”

Spock stiffens, if imperceptibly. “It is my understanding that the medical personnel onboard are not authorized to divulge such information—“

“It wasn’t Bones,” she cuts off the stream of speech, “or any of the medical staff. I…just know.”

Spock’s eyes narrow, clearly sensing that she’s lying her ass off. In the time since the whole wedding shit show Jim’s almost forgotten how it feels to be under that x-ray gaze, and now that she thinks about it she’s not really sure she missed it all that much.

But _shit,_ she can’t stop seeing it. She knows that Spock is fine, he’s right in front of her, but seconds ago on her console he was screaming. S _eizing._

Spock keeps her gaze for a second longer, then blinks, looking at the deck instead. Jim wonders what he just saw in her expression.

“The sensation of the bond breaking so abruptly, and the lengths to which I had to go to ensure you continued brain function, were indeed traumatic,” he admits, “I am not a trained healer, and so was inexperienced in performing such deep melds. It was an…unfortunate combination.”

Jim almost snorts. _Unfortunate my—_

“Captain,” Spock cuts off her train of thought, “If you are amenable, I believe there are important matters which require discussion between our persons.”

“What a smooth talker,” Jim retorts on instinct, “You’re the only person I know who can make ‘ _we need to talk_ ’ sound clinical.”

Spock doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead seating himself primly on the edge of her other desk chair. He stares at the deck for a little while longer, mouth turned down ever so slightly at the corners, and then says abruptly, “I have been a fool.”

Jim’s jaw doesn’t drop, but it’s a near thing. Her first instinct is to make a stupid joke like _Who are you and what have you done with Spock,_ but she senses that now may not be the time. Instead, she considers what he said, shrugs, and says, “Yeah.”

Spock jerks his head up to meet her gaze again at that, clearly surprised. Now, she does snort. “What,” she says, “did you think I was going to say ‘no, it’s fine, it was my fault’? You’ve spent the last four months acting like more of a bitch than ever, and that’s _saying_ something.”

She must be hallucinating because Spock’s lip twitches at that and she could swear it looks like he’s actually holding in a laugh. “Indeed,” he says finally, the ghost of their old banter hanging in the air.

Jim sighs, suddenly grudgingly aware that her whole existence was broken not too long ago. The prospect of this conversation makes the bone-deep soreness somehow worse. “Look, Spock,” she says tiredly, “it was a fucked-up situation all around. You were balls-deep in the black toe—“

“ _Plak tow,”_ Spock interjects, looking slightly pained.

“—Yeah, that, and you didn’t have any control over yourself then. I get that.” Jim breathes in. breathes out. “But you know what you _did_ have control over?”

Spock straightens a little, like an animal sensing danger. “I—“

“Acting like I had just shot your favorite sehlat when you knew _damn_ well that I didn’t know what was going on,” Jim cuts him off, gathering steam, “Motherfucker, Spock, I was hurt and confused and guilty as hell and right when I needed you most you _left._ No more chess nights, no more paperwork, no more breakfast, I can’t even talk to you anymore, for fuck’s sake. You were the only person who really understood what we’d gone through and instead of helping you _took my friend away._ ”

Spock looks like he’s seriously considering vomiting, returning his gaze to the deck with intensity no floor has ever warranted. And Jim is absolutely imagining the tendril of guilt that pokes at the back of her mind, because Spock completely and totally deserves to feel like shit right now.

Even so, because Jim is so _fucked_ she still doesn’t like seeing him upset, she takes pity.

“And I get that it was an adjustment,” she allows, “Okay? I really do. You were going to _die,_ I didn’t get the chance to cauliflower, neither of us knew the damn thing existed—”

“Excuse me?” Spock’s got that teeny tiny wrinkle between his perfect eyebrows that means he’s legitimately got no idea what Jim just said. “Cauliflower?” he repeats, honestly perplexed.

“Yeah,” Jim shrugs, “that thing where you can challenge or whatever, apparently traditional—”

“ _Kal-if-fee?_ ” Spock asks, voice and stare both suddenly razor-sharp. “You were not afforded the rite of _kal-if-fee?_ ”

“Uh,” Jim confirms dumbly, sidelined by a sudden, sweeping wave of horror washing over her like ice water. It catches her so off guard that she physically shivers.

“ _Fuck,”_ she hisses, “why do I keep feeling shit that’s not mine?” 

At that, the wave recedes as suddenly as it came, leaving Jim feeling weirdly robbed. Spock looks even more tempted to vomit than before.

“I apologize,” he says softly, “As previously stated, my shields were torn down by the force of the bond’s breaking and the extent of the meld. I have not yet been able to fully re-erect them. Emotional transference is…an unfortunate consequence.”

 “That’s _you_ that I’ve been feeling?” Jim openly gapes, thinking back to all the times she felt something that definitely wasn’t hers, pain and guilt and sadness and horror and—“Are you _okay?_ ”

Spock’s eyebrow twitches upward at that, and if Jim really squints she can imagine she sees his lip curl up a little. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, turning on the x-ray gaze again, “You are informed that my emotions have been leaking unbidden across a bond you were given no chance to challenge, and your first instinct is to ascertain _my_ wellbeing.”

Jim wants to say _well, when you put it_ that _way_ , wants to say _ever consider the idea that I might be_ in love _with your dumb ass,_ wants to say a whole host of things she can’t say just yet (or ever). So she does the next best thing: digs in her heels.

“Well, are you?” she demands stubbornly, “Okay, that is?”

Spock actually looks like he’s weighing his answer. The silence stretching between them is so thick that Jim almost wishes for a red alert or something to distract them both. Eventually, Spock lets out an almost-imperceptible sigh.

“I am as well as I ought to be, given the extent of my offense,” he says lowly. And, okay, that’s a _loaded_ statement if there ever was one.

“Spock,” she starts, but he holds up a hand.

 “The _T’hy’la_ bond is a gift,” Spock declares gravely, “It is sacred, possible only between the most compatible of minds. It is an honor, and one that I threw away thoughtlessly.”

Jim wonders if this must be what a dog feels like when it finally catches its tail. She’s been chasing this confession, outright yearning to hear these words from Spock, and now that she’s getting them she has absolutely no clue what to do. Suddenly, she can see exactly what Spock found so fascinating about the floo—oh hey, was the carpet always patterned?

“I did not consider your feelings upon realizing what had happened,” Spock’s still going, “despite being more aware than ever of what you were experiencing. Neither did I consider Nyota’s feelings in the matter. I awoke to unforeseen circumstances, and instead of adapting, I sought to reverse them. This was neither logical nor fair to either of you.” It’s so quiet Jim is afraid to breathe for a second, and then Spock says, “Should Surak or, indeed, my family, be made aware of my actions, I imagine they would be ashamed.”

Well, shit fire and save matches, fuck a duck and see what hatches. Spock really whipped out the Daddy Issues card and everything. She’d be impressed with the tactical move, but she can actually feel that Spock’s being honest here.

Well, if they’re unloading all their shit on each other, Jim thinks with a mental shrug. “You said you had to perform an ‘extended deep meld’,” she says slowly, “What exactly did you see?”

Spock inhales sharply, which pretty much confirms every fear Jim’s ever had. She’s suddenly three thousand percent certain that he’s seen _everything,_ and lord, what a dumpster fire that is.

Then Spock says, “Honor that I…did not exhibit.” Then: “Loyalty I had not earned…love that I…” he raises his eyes to meet Jim’s head-on, “did not deserve.”

“I’m gonna break out in hives,” Jim announces.

“I would request that you do not,” Spock replies mildly, and that eyebrow is _absolutely_ laughing at her. Unbidden, rage rises in her throat.

“Fucking _hell,_ Spock,” she hisses out from between her teeth, feeling a brand new headache prick at the base of her skull, “I wasn’t fucking ready for you to know that. You—that was— _fuck,_ Spock.”

“I understand,” Spock assures gently, even though Jim’s pretty sure none of what she just said made sense, “Those are words that I have not earned. If anything, I have forfeited whatever right I once had to them, and I have severely eroded your trust in me. You have already given me far more than I deserve; you need not give any more.” He lets that one marinate for a second while Jim decides whether or not she should bust out crying and then blame it on her medication. Then he adds, “But you must know, Captain, that I cannot, nor am I willing to, return to the relationship we shared before the bond was discovered.”

Jim’s heart plummets to her shoes, but Spock must be able to either see it on her face or feel it in her head, because he holds up a hand. “Please understand that the events on Dengri fundamentally changed my perspective,” he says, “You are not the woman I judged you to be—you are immeasurably stronger, kinder, more generous, more faithful than anyone has any right to demand of you. I was willfully blind to your feelings, yet you sought to ensure my happiness. I abandoned you, yet you—” he breaks off with a horrifically-choked noise, but Jim hears the end of the sentence all the same: _loved me still._

And you know what? She absolutely is going to cry, T-minus thirty seconds, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened and she apparently died once so that’s saying something.

“I have upset you,” Spock says softly, “I am sorry.”

 Jim honestly doesn’t even know if he’s right. She feels wrung out like a dishcloth. Between them, her computer console silently goes dark.

Jim tries to be sneaky about it when she rubs the heel of her hand over her eyes, but there’s no hiding the ugly sniff she lets out a second later. “Where the hell do we even go from here, Spock?” she asks miserably. 

“I will follow whatever path you choose for us,” Spock replies serenely, and honestly? Fuck him for being that calm when Jim is a disaster at Warp 8. “For now, your priority should be to heal. To prevent your distress I will leave my thoughts open to you. Re-erecting the shields which blocked your thoughts from me will take some time, but I will do so should you wish for privacy.”

Jim takes a breath, tries to find her center. “I think,” she admits lowly, not meeting Spock’s eyes like the damn coward she is (come to think of it, the carpet pattern is actually fucking ugly), “I think I’d like for my mind to be my own. For now.” She winces. “While we figure this shit out.”

Spock nods as though he was expecting that answer, which is both a relief and _really_ fucking sad. The piece of Jim that’s a massive bitch refuses to feel sorry because Spock was the one who cut her off first, but another, more instinctual piece is composing a Klingon opera about the tragedy of making him live without his soulmate.

“Jim,” Spock calls softly, making her jolt with the unexpected use of her name, “you are tired and still terribly hurt. I ask that you rest, and allow me to care for you as you heal. We need not discuss anything further tonight.”

_Be cool,_ she coaches herself as Spock arises from his chair and moves to help her from hers, but she lets out a decidedly uncool gasp when his hand touches the bare skin of her forearms. He’s cheating, and he’s _sneaky_ about it, but something warm and comfy wraps around her mind like a blanket and if Spock ever tells anyone about how she melts into him as they stagger over to her bed, she’ll deny it till kingdom come.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” she blurts once he’s all but tucked her in and her brain to mouth filter has officially clocked out for the day, “we could’ve fucking _had_ this.”

She doesn’t even know exactly what _this_ is, just that she feels like they lost it and that pisses her off. Spock seems to know what she’s trying to say, though, because his lips do that little half-twitch thing and he presses his fingers to the lump of blanket where her arm is.

“I know, _T’hy’la_ ,” he says, soft and warm like when she’d caught him talking to Nyota, “Sleep well.”

She’s conked out before he makes it to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....................heh.  
>  So, remember when I said I'd be updating regularly?   
> I don't even have an excuse. I'm a disaster. A certified dumpster fire. My only saving grace is that I've finally bagged this muhfuckin' Bachelor's and can act like a human being again.  
> Please do let me know your thoughts. I know I said the fourth chapter would wrap it up, but the more I wrote the more I felt like this deserved a more dedicated resolution. Spock has realized he's a dingbat, but if Jim didn't make him work for it then it would've been a disservice to her character. Real life means being confused about feelings, hesitant to grant forgiveness and _really_ wary to trust. Spock has his work cut out for him, and that deserves a chapter of its own.   
>  I love and appreciate every one of you who commented, left kudos, and/or bookmarked.


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